


trust me, i can take you there

by capnseriouslycanadian



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gay Porn Hard, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, they're so in love how could there not be feelings?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capnseriouslycanadian/pseuds/capnseriouslycanadian
Summary: He still doesn’t understand how after all this time, even something as simple as kissing Patrick can light up him inside, the way fireworks light up the night sky.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	trust me, i can take you there

**Author's Note:**

> just a little Gay Porn Hard (or perhaps Gay Porn Soft??) in honour of game 4 tonight. 
> 
> this is completely self indulgent and totally full of more feelings than i had intended, but when 1988 is involved, how can you not include feelings? 
> 
> #AllForOne 
> 
> post game 4 edit: LETS GO BOYS WE AIN’T GETTIN SWEPT THIS YEAR!!!
> 
> (title taken from good for you by selena gomez)

Jonny’s just turned out the lights and pulled the covers back when a small knock comes at his door. They’re not supposed to be out past curfew, so there’s only one person that it could be. 

“Jon, c’mon open up,” Patrick’s voice says. His tone is hushed, like he’s trying to speak through the crack of the door for only Jonny to hear. 

Jonny sighs. Patrick knows him better than anyone, knows how much a loss like this eats away at him, especially when he wasn’t able to get on the scoresheet. He’s always taken playoff loses a little harder than everyone else— whether it’s a byproduct of being captain or just his own desire to be the absolute best, he doesn’t know. But losing in the playoffs is like a sucker punch that knocks the wind out of you, leaving you disoriented and breathless. 

“I know you’re in there beating yourself up over this. Let me help,” Patrick says, voice a tad bit louder now, like he’s trying to put a bit more force behind his words. 

Jonny walks over and turns on the lamp before getting the door. When he opens it, Patrick’s standing there with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and his lip between his teeth. His shoulders noticeably relax when he sees that Jonny’s actually opened the door. 

  
“Pat, listen--” 

“No, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen,” Patrick says as he walks by Jonny and into the room. The material of his hoodie brushes against Jonny’s bare forearm and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

“I know what you’re going to say. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but you played good tonight, Tazer. You aren’t going to light it up every night and you can’t score highlight reel goals all the time.” Jonny doesn’t point out that McDavid quite literally scores a highlight reel goal (or three) every night. “You’re so much more to this team than what shows up in the box score. We literally can’t function without you and I hate that--”

“I know,” Jonny says with a sigh as he sits on the edge of his bed. He looks down at the floor as he digs his toes into the hotel carpet and feels it rub roughly against his skin. 

Patrick looks up from where he’s leaning against the wall near the bathroom, surprise written all over his face. “You know? As in, you’re agreeing with what I’m saying?” 

Jonny feels himself chuckle in response, a puff of air escaping his chest. “Guess I must be getting old since I don’t even have it in me to argue with you anymore, eh?” He replies with a small laugh. 

They lock eyes for the first time since the door closed behind them and Jonny’s suddenly hit with this feeling of realization and gratitude. Realization that this is the tenth time now that the two of them are experiencing a playoff run-- gratitude that they’ve been able to go through all the highs and lows of ten playoff runs together. 

Patrick’s expression softens and he walks over to the bed, sitting down and placing his hand on top of Jonny’s. “Jon, you know you’re still one of the best in the game. You’ll always be the best in my eyes. I don’t know how this playoff run is going to work out, but I know for damn sure that nothing is impossible when we’ve got you leading us into battle. I’d follow you anywhere, and so would any of the other guys, you know that, right?”

Jonny turns his head to look into Patrick’s eyes, the blue of them subdued in the soft light of his hotel room. He brings his right hand up to cup the side of Patrick’s face, thumb rubbing small circles over his jaw. Patrick leans into the touch and lets his eyes flutter shut. Jonny loves the way Patrick’s eyelashes cast shadows over his face when his eyes are closed-- it makes him look even more beautiful than he does when his eyes are wide open. 

Jonny leans in and presses his lips to the tip of Patrick’s nose, just the lightest of touches. Patrick makes a sound in the back of his throat and suddenly his eyes are piercing into Jonny’s again. They stare at each other— his brown eyes looking into Pat’s blue ones, for seconds, minutes, hours, until Jonny uses the grip he has on Patrick’s jaw to finally,  _ finally _ bring their mouths together in a kiss. 

It starts off slow, just closed-mouthed kisses. Then Patrick brings his hands up to frame Jonny’s face, his fingers brushing back and forth across the sensitive nape of Jonny’s neck. The touches send a shiver down Jonny’s spine and he throws his head back on a soft sigh, his mouth falling open. Patrick takes it as an invitation and climbs into Jonny’s lap before recapturing his mouth and kissing him breathless. 

“God, your  _ mouth _ ,” Jonny says between kisses. He bites down on Patrick’s lip and then soothes the spot with his own tongue, loving the noises it draws out of him.

Patrick puts both his hands on Jonny’s chest, making Jonny fall back into the bed with a soft “ _ oof” _ . He leans down to mouth at Jonny’s neck, that sensitive spot under his ear that Patrick knows drives him crazy. Jonny tips his head to the side to give him more room as he cards a hand through Patrick’s hair. With his other hand, he makes a futile attempt to get Patrick’s shirt off, only for it to get stuck around the width of his chest. 

“Get this off,” Jonny says in a rush.

“Eager tonight, eh Taze?” Patrick says with a sleazy grin as he sits up to take the shirt the rest of the way off. He drops it over the edge of the bed and when he sits upright again, Jonny brings his hands up to frame Patrick’s pecs, the muscles jumping under his fingertips.

Jonny runs his hands from Patrick’s chest out to his shoulders, cupping his shoulder caps and squeezing slightly before moving his hands down Patrick’s arms to his hands, where he clasps both of Patrick’s hands between his own. He looks up at Patrick as he slowly,  _ so  _ slowly, brings one of Patrick’s hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Patrick raises a questioning eyebrow, but stays silent. 

Jonny continues on, flipping Patrick’s hand over and placing a kiss to his open palm, to each of his fingers. When he’s done, Jonny pulls Patrick’s fingers towards his mouth, hoping that Pat will catch on to what he’s trying to do.

Lo and behold, Patrick takes the hint and brings his pointer and middle finger together before pushing them past the seam of Jonny’s lips and into his mouth. 

“Shit, that’s good, Jon, you’re so good,” Patrick says, mesmerized as he watches his own fingers disappear into Jonny’s mouth. 

He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out, in and out. The only sounds in the room are from their combined laboured breathing and the wet sound that Patrick’s fingers make as they bump against the back of Jonny’s throat. 

On Patrick’s next inward stroke, Jonny sucks hard and Patrick honest to god  _ whines _ . He pulls his fingers free and cups Jonny’s head, kissing him roughly as he grinds his hips downwards in a sinuous motion.

Jonny’s helpless to do anything but lay there and take it-- take the bruising kisses Patrick’s giving him, take the constant pressure from the dirty grind that Patrick’s set. Jonny needs to touch, to speak, so he pushes back on Pat’s chest, just enough to create a little space between them before he says, “Take off your pants and get on with it, Kaner.”

Patrick looks taken aback for a moment before he scrambles to comply, shucking his pants and boxers in one go, before pulling Jonny’s down and off, too. They’re finally both naked, and suddenly there’s far too much space between them. Jonny makes a grabbing motion towards Patrick, and perhaps he’s being a little more needy than he likes to be, but he’s desperate for that skin on skin contact.

Patrick laughs and bends Jonny’s knees so that his feet are resting flat on the bed. He knee-walks up the bed until his thighs hit the back of Jonny’s and he says, “Wrap your legs around my waist. Gonna make it good for you, Jonny.”

Jonny does as he’s told, hooking his ankles behind Patrick’s back. The movement causes Pat to fold forward and it aligns their dicks perfectly so that all Patrick has to do is close one of his big hands around both of them. The position makes it easy because Pat can thrust his hips forward in an imitation of fucking, and if Jonny closes his eyes, that’s almost what it feels like. 

“Tighter, tighter,” Jonny chants as Patrick keeps up a rhythmic pace. Patrick’s grip falls away completely for a split second, and Jonny looks down in time to see him spit into his hand before he brings it back down to where their dicks are now resting against each other, spit and precome slicking the way. 

Patrick readjusts his position, changing the angle slightly, and Jonny moans when the head of his dick catches just right on Patrick’s. Jonny can feel his orgasm building, this crackling fire that started in his toes has worked its way up to the base of his spine.

_ “God I wish you were actually fucking me right now _ ,” Jonny thinks as he digs his fingernails into the meat of Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick’s rhythm falters. 

“Fuck, I want that too, but we can’t during playoffs,” Patrick replies, letting his head drop down between his shoulders.

God, Jonny wishes he didn’t need it so bad. He wishes he wasn’t usually such a complete mess afterwards. He needs that closeness, that steady pressure inside of him, to ground him, bring him back down to earth.

He voices as much, and Patrick smiles. “I know, babe, you just want my dick all the time, you just can’t help yourself,” he says with a lift of his chin and a quirk of his eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.”

“You always do,” Jonny says, softer than he means too. 

Patrick looks at him for a long moment before moving in and sealing their lips together as he brings his hand back down to Jonny’s dick. 

The kiss is searing, like they’re trying to say everything that their words can’t. Jonny gets a hand fisted in the curls at the base of Patrick’s neck as Patrick keeps up his rhythm, bringing Jonny closer and closer to the edge. Jonny looks down between their bodies and sees Patrick’s dick standing proudly, the head an angry red from the lack of attention. 

“Pat, I need--” Jonny doesn’t know how to say that he needs Patrick’s dick back against his own, that he needs Patrick impossibly closer than he already is. 

Patrick looks up, his hand stilling, and Jonny takes the chance to flip them over, Patrick landing on his back, his curls splaying out against the ruffled sheets. He smiles up at Jonny, tongue poking between his teeth, his eyes sparkling .

It’s in small moments like these where Jonny realizes how much he loves Patrick. Of course he loves Patrick’s hockey, the way that Patrick always comes up big when it matters the most. And he loves the way Patrick carries their entire team on his back like it’s a weightless burden, thriving under the neverending pressure of a franchise and a fanbase so accustomed to winning it’s like second nature.

But what Jonny loves most about Patrick, is the way that he saves his smallest, most genuine smiles for Jonny. He loves how easily Patrick lets his guard down around Jonny, never afraid to show the emotions on his face that he so often hides away when in the public eye. When it’s just the two of them, Patrick allows himself to feel joy so completely, lets it overcome his face and his energy, and it often radiates off of him and onto Jonny. 

There’s no feeling in the world like winning Olympic gold, like raising the Stanley Cup. But Jonny thinks, if he had to choose, he would give it all up just to keep Patrick smiling at him like this. 

“What’s goin’ on up there?” Patrick asks as he brings a finger up to press between the furrow in Jonny’s eyebrows. 

Jonny smiles. “Just running some plays in my head. Thinking that on the power play we should--” 

“You’re so full of shit, babe. I can read you like an open book,” Patrick says as he lands a soft punch to the side of Jonny’s ribs. Jonny leans down to kiss Patrick, unable to keep the smile off his face. He rolls his hips down, trying to encourage Patrick to start up that dirty grind again. 

“Nuh uh,” Patrick tsks. “My job was only to make you feel better, Captain. You flipped the script here, so this is your show now, baby.” Patrick folds his hands behind his head, biceps bulging as a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. 

Jonny rolls his eyes, all faux-exasperation, and sticks his hand towards Patrick’s mouth, palm outward. Patrick leans forward and licks a long stripe up Jonny’s palm, from his wrist to his fingertips. Jonny brings his hand down, closing his grip around both of them. 

“Peeks, kiss me,” Jonny says as he starts a tight, steady rhythm over both of their lengths. Patrick just puckers his lips, waiting for Jonny to lean down. Jonny huffs a laugh and leans down, leaving room to work his right arm as he kisses Patrick. The kiss is all tongue, and it hits Jonny in the gut. He still doesn’t understand how after all this time, even something as simple as kissing Patrick can light up him inside, like fireworks light up the night sky. 

Jonny continues to work his hand in a circular motion, letting the movement of his hips pick up pace as he pulls them both off. His breath hitches when he gets a particularly good twist in with his wrist, feeling it from the base of his spine to the tops of his ears.

“Gonna come for me, Jonny? Gonna give it up for me, baby?” Patrick asks, more just urging him on than anything. Jonny tightens his grip, feeling himself about to fall over the edge. “C’mon Taze, mark me up, get me all messy.” 

Patrick’s words coupled with Jonny’s own grip and the pressure that’s been building in his balls, sends Jonny’s orgasm crashing through him. He has enough coherent thought left, even through the cloud of his own pleasure, to keep his hand moving, to get Patrick there. Patrick’s hand comes down and knocks Jonny’s away, taking himself in hand and giving it one, two, three more pulls before he spills all over his own stomach. 

Jonny runs his fingers through their combined come, bringing a finger to his mouth to taste it. It’s salty, a little bitter, a hint of something sweet , but it tastes like them. 

Jonny rolls off of Patrick, leaning over the side of the bed to grab his shirt. He wipes at the mess on Patrick’s chest before laying on his side, his hand resting on Patrick’s shoulder. 

“Feeling better?” Patrick asks. He brings his right hand up, fingers tangling with Jonny’s. 

“Yeah, Peeks. Thanks,” Jonny replies, his lips pulling up in a small smile. 

“Told you I’d make it good for you,” Patrick says as he turns onto his side, facing Jonny. Their hands stay intertwined, resting on the bed between them.

“You always do,” Jonny answers. And he means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigasstoews/) where i cry about 1988 on the regular!!


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